Faithful Shadow Read Free Page A

the Fourth of July, extremely intoxicated but still able to form a rational thought, she’d made her intentions clear. She’d awoken in his cabin wearing his shirt and nothing else, but there were no regrets. He’d been a gentleman then and remained so to this day. Even with all the available tail in the park for a beautiful physical specimen such as himself, he remained true to her.
    “Well, let’s get going.” Kelly headed up the trail. “Keep up if you can,” she yelled over her shoulder.
    Richard smiled, watching her head down the trail with his focus solely on her little running shorts. Long enough to cover her ass, but short enough to offer a hint of cheek. He shook his head and got moving, knowing this was going to be a great day.

4
    J oe pulled up to the Old Faithful backcountry office on Grand Loop Road, just sixteen miles short of the Madison Junction. He sat in his truck for a moment, looking down at his hands. The elk’s blood had dried on his fingertips, painting his flesh a dark maroon. Had he gotten so careless that he didn’t even wear gloves anymore? He shrugged off his own question and grabbed the flask from the inside pocket of his coat. Joe sighed, shaking the flask slightly. It didn’t even make a sound. He slipped it back into his pocket and sat for a moment, setting his hands on the wheel. A powerful migraine began marching from the back of his head, advancing to the front to make base camp behind the eyes. It was the booze. Every morning was the same. First he’d wake up with a cold sweat; then he’d sit in bed and cry. This would go on for an hour and then he’d get up for a healthy breakfast of sugary cereal and a beer. The beer had to be ice cold or he couldn’t stomach it. Joe typically hated beer, always had, but he needed something and it was the cheapest in the park. Some crappy, piss-colored concoction brewed in Washington State. Joe lifted his head and looked at himself in the rearview mirror; dark circles weighed down his bloodshot eyes.
    “You look like shit,” he told the mirror, wishing to hell it had been someone else’s face.
    Joe got out of his truck and made his way to the small station. Immediately he was assaulted by the nasally voice of Andy Lutz.
    “Hey Joe, we got a call here.” Andy hurried toward the door, nearly bumping into him. “Sounds pretty urgent.”
    Joe held up a hand, his palm flat. “Just give me a moment.” He went down the short hall to the familiar last door on the left. “Need my coffee,” Joe hollered out the door before shutting it.
    Joe took a seat behind his desk and began rubbing his temples. The coffee had been a lie. The truth was that he hated coffee, always had. It tasted like burned dirt, but the excuse worked every morning. Andy was a good man and an excellent ranger, but too much of his jittery personality would wear a person thin; especially when a headache was involved. Besides, it was always an urgent call or an important this or that. They were rangers. They didn’t get called out for simple tasks like washing someone’s car or making sure the tourists were smiling. This was serious work and the last thing he needed was a reminder of it. He placed his hands on the desk and looked at the dried blood, all the reminder he would need. Nature didn’t wait for you to curb your headache or sober up. Joe unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and removed a bottle of vodka. He unscrewed the lid with one hand and filled the flask, careful not to top it off.
    There was a knock at the door.
    “Come on in, Andy.” Joe slipped the bottle back into his drawer and the flask into his pocket.
    “Sorry to bug you.” Andy opened the door wide enough to squeeze his head through. “Got a call from Mira down at Old Faithful, said there’s been some vandalism in Loop 39.”
    “How is some vandalism an urgent matter?” Joe rubbed his temples, looking at the desk.
    Andy ignored his short temper, looking from Joe to the overturned picture